


Softly-softly

by Petra



Category: Ashes to Ashes
Genre: F/M, Mutual Masturbation, Silence Kink, Vehicular, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2017-10-10 23:03:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Either Gene lacks faith in everyone who isn't him, or he wants an excuse to cram Alex into the front seat of his bloody Quattro and keep her there for hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Softly-softly

**Author's Note:**

> Silence for Kink Bingo with vehicular &amp; public sex for flavor. With affectionate bickering for Carla.

  
One of the things Alex likes best about being a psychologist is there's very little call for her to do street-pounding duty. In the real world, that is. In Gene Hunt's CID, she ends up doing all sorts of things that aren't anything like her specialty, not least because he doesn't know how to make use of her properly. The worst of all are the stakeouts, stupefying waiting games that would be just as effective if they were carried out by a batch of uniformed officers in unmarked cars, but that isn't sufficient for Gene sometimes.

Either he lacks faith in everyone who isn't him, or he wants an excuse to cram her into the front seat of his bloody Quattro and keep her there for hours. Alex is open to either interpretation of the data or a mix of the two for preference. It galls on her like Shaz and her perpetual tea duty, a foolish faux necessity. On the days after they've been fighting-and-flirting in an indistinguishable mass of bickering, sitting quietly beside Gene without doing something foolish goes from annoying to uncomfortable.

Then there are the days after the nights when they've been rolling about on her bed, barely looking at one another for all they're going at it. On those days, keeping to herself and being a good girl becomes thoroughly impossible, no matter that they're close enough to their target to cause a stir if they catch anyone's attention.

Alex sighs and throws her head back on the seat, her loosening curls bouncing. "I hate this," she says, and reaches over, tucking her hand round Gene's thigh.

He stares at her as though she's never had her fingers there before. As though it's been more than sixteen--no, perhaps twenty--hours since. "You're having one of those turns, are you, Bolly?"

She rolls her eyes and undoes his flies. "I'm bored. And don't look at me; I'm not likely to come charging out of a warehouse waving drugs about. Though at this hour of the day, I doubt anyone's likely to."

Gene groans and puts his gloved hand over hers. "You're filthy and you'll blow the whole operation."

Alex sniffs. "Not likely. I'm not even going to blow you, the way you carry on over it. Just--keep your eyes open. And--" she presses her finger to her lips. "Keep it quiet, or you'll wake the criminals and it'll all be over."

"Tart," he says, and turns away as she smirks at him.

"Shush, now."

Gene sighs heavily, as though he's not twitching and going hard in her hand, as though he's not reaching blindly over and running his hand up her thigh, looking to return the favor. Alex considers the benefits and problems inherent in kissing him, but that would be a dereliction of duty beyond what Gene normally allows himself. He may be drunk, he may be disorderly, but he rarely stands down before the work's over.

That goes for his erection as well, as she has had various opportunities to appreciate.

As for his thumb, snugging up against the crotch of her slacks, he's not nearly as selfish about such things as he might be, nor as unskilled. She's never heard more than the vaguest tale about his estranged wife, but at times like this, she wonders about the woman: how much nonsense she'd taken from him, what her dreams were, how long she'd put up with Gene being Gene before she'd left. Gene is a frustrating bastard, but he does have his moments.

Requiring him to shut up for the duration has the side benefit that instead of the normal running commentary on her various physical attributes and how they counterbalance her personality traits, she can hear Gene struggling to suppress what might have been a groan. Alex tightens her fingers slightly and strokes him again. If they were in private, she'd tease him until he swore at her, but this is no time for that kind of thing.

If they were in private, she'd already have her trousers down in any case, and she's not going to bother with that. Bad enough that she's squirming in her seat, grinding against Gene's fingers.

Gene makes a strangled noise and covers her right hand with his own, making her work him faster. He's forgot to take his gloves off, or he doesn't care what becomes of them. His breathing has gone ragged, and if she didn't know precisely what face he'd make if she said it aloud, she'd think he was nearly purring. It's more like grunting, in this case, or he'd tell her so if they were talking.

That, and any number of things about the soft noises she's trying not to make, at least as desperate as his. The car's seat creaks slightly as she shifts, lifting her hips up again and again, looking for the right tease, the right speed. This is too strange to be real; she doesn't believe she'd ever do this, molesting and molested by a superior officer in the line of duty. This is too mundane to be real; they're having a dirty stolen moment doing things she never managed when she was young enough to get away with them.

She won't ask Gene how often this happens to him. Not now, with the prohibition on speaking, not now, when he's making a noise that would've been a shout somewhere safe but is more like a series of pained gasps, not now, when he's tensing hard and coming.

Typically, he's thoroughly lost the rhythm he was giving her, devolving into a few rough jerks that are neither consistent nor well-placed enough to suffice. Alex gives him a few breaths' grace to compose himself and hopefully continue where they left off, then smacks his knee with her clean hand.

Gene lets out a breath that might be a laugh if he let it and picks up the pace again. There's no hesitation there; they haven't time for it, or they've all the time in the world, but it's impossible to know which until something happens. Alex hopes he's keeping his eyes on the place they're meant to be staking out, because she's not looking at anything anymore, only feeling in crashing waves. If anyone were to walk by, they'd have quite the view, Alex writhing and flushed, Gene hanging out of his trousers. The pride of the Met would never recover.

"Oh--" Alex says, the first word she's managed since they started this, and not entirely a word for all of that. She clenches her mouth shut tight to keep in the whimper that wants to come next and squeezes Gene's hand with her thighs, just there, just so, until the rush of orgasm hits, crests, ebbs. When she can think, she lets him go, frowning at her chilly hand and adjusting her clothing back to normal with the other, though she's hardly disarranged.

"You're a menace, Bolly. Get us some tissues from the glove compartment." Gene sounds more amused than anything, but then he usually does, afterward. "Can't go running after the baddies like this."

It only takes a moment and a fistful of tissues to clean up, though they'd best open the windows. Alex leans back in her seat, smiling. "You know, the last time I made your car smell half this strongly, you said I was off the team."

Gene pats her knee. "You can stay."

Alex laughs, though she knows she was asking for that one. "Thank you very bloody much."

"One thing, though, Bolls--"

"What's that?"

"I like you best when you keep your ruddy gob shut."

Alex is still searching for a properly scathing response when the warehouse doors open and they're back to work.


End file.
